


Yes, Tom - Chapter 19

by riddlemetitillatedhiddles (ninecats)



Series: Yes, Tom [20]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninecats/pseuds/riddlemetitillatedhiddles





	Yes, Tom - Chapter 19

When I woke up a few hours later, Tom was by my side, playing with my hair, gazing at me lovingly. I thought it was a dream, until I tried to move. I ached everywhere.

"Good morning sweetheart," his voice so full of love, so comforting. 

"I'm so sorry, Tom. You… I can't explain… in words…" My voice faltered as I began to cry once more. 

"Shh… it's okay. We'll get through it, okay? We'll make it through." He kissed me on the forehead, then handed me some ibuprofen and a glass of water from the bedside table. "Here. This will help with the pain."

"I don't want it." I lowered my eyes, ashamed. I wanted to hurt, to feel the pain. It wasn't enough, the punishment. No matter how much worse it was than any other one I'd ever had. I still wanted more. I wanted to suffer.

"Darling…" Tom sighed softly, setting the items back on the table. Turning back to me, he took my hand. "While you were sleeping, I spoke to Michael."

At first, I was so excited I thought my heart might leap from my chest, because I knew Michael wouldn't lie and finally Tom would know, for once and for all, that all I had done was tell Michael I loved Tom. It only took a few seconds, though, for me to realize how much it didn't matter. Because it _didn't_ matter. My stomach dropped, and I felt even worse. My betrayal had almost nothing to do with what was said. It was all about what wasn't. How could I not have known that?

I lied. I made up intricate ways to lie and then told even more lies to cover up the original lies. I couldn't imagine how I would have felt if I found out Tom had texted his ex or talked to her. I would be livid. Crushed. And didn't tell me? Hid it from me? My whole world would have fallen apart. No matter what was said; even if it was only to say 'I'm in a relationship'. The words were irrelevant. It was the act of covering it up. How would I be able to trust him again? Wouldn't I constantly be trying to surreptitiously glance at his phone, listen in as he answered his calls, attempt to read his texts? The insecurity would have eaten away at me, and I don't think I would have been able to just let it go. The more this dawned on me, the more painful it became. What would it feel like? To look down and see texts on Tom's phone from another woman? I could barely handle seeing pictures of him with fans. When I saw those photos from Iceland, I lost it. But an ex? Someone he had dated, fucked, _loved_? Of course I would have freaked out. I might even have broken up with him. Especially if he had done it more than once, like I did. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to curl up and hide from the world and the consequences of these actions, because they were all my fault. I couldn't fathom how this had escaped me. I wanted so badly to run away from such a tiny problem, I went and made it much bigger than it should ever have been. And what made it so much worse, is I'd had someone cheat on me before, too; a boyfriend in college had started rekindling the relationship with his ex just as ours had begun to sour. It wasn't as serious as what happened to Tom with his ex, and, honestly, we were already so close to breaking up. But it didn't mean it didn't hurt. My actions were so immature, so inconsiderate, and that is not who I wanted to be, nor who I felt I actually was _._

"It's okay, Elizabeth. Michael sent me the texts. I just… needed some reassurance. He told me what you said and… I'll… work through it. I love you too much to give up. And I know you probably didn't think about what you were doing…" He leaned down, kissing me on the forehead, then brushing his lips against mine. "I forgive you. I won't say I'm not still upset, because I am. You hurt me deeply. And I can't say I'm not wary. But darling, I forgive you."

"What if I don't forgive myself?" I said it out loud, barely though, almost an afterthought, although I meant it. Because I didn't forgive myself. I was lost and I couldn't believe I had fucked up like this. 

'"I don't know. I can't reassure you over this. I'm sorry."

"That's not what I meant…"

"Well, darling, don't take this the wrong way, but…" He smiled, but a sad smile, as he shrugged his shoulders a little. "Perhaps you're meant to feel bad."

I nodded, but I didn't cry this time, almost as if I felt I didn't deserve the tears. Tom smoothed my hair, tucking an errant hair behind my ear, then reached back and got the ibuprofen again, handing it to me with a slightly stern look on his face. "Take them. I insist." I nodded again, my eyes empty as I stared blankly at the comforter. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

I quickly added, "Yes, sir," as Tom handed me the water as well. It made me smile a little, really, the show of dominance. Made me feel safe and secure, even if only for a moment. I swallowed the pills and finished the water, handing the glass back and laying my head back down. 

"That's better. I phoned the airline, and they can put us on a later flight. I've cleared it with everyone. It will only bring us back a few hours later, so it won't affect our work schedule. So sleep a little while longer, love. Okay?"

"My mom…"

"Shh… I spoke with her, too. Don't worry. She'll stop by the hotel later before we leave so you can say your good-byes then."

I smiled weakly. "Thank you." As I closed my eyes, though, I felt miserable. I had begged Tom to forgive me, and now I almost wished he hadn't.

****

We said our goodbyes to my mom and Lena and left later that night. I slept most of the drive to Chicago. Uncertainty had burrowed into my mind, and was nestled there, poisoning my every thought. I had more fitful dreams. Tom just standing there, watching silently, as I was carried away by the ocean currents, his eyes empty and dark. And one where I was screaming at him desperately, his back to me, and all he would do is ignore me. When we arrived at the airport, Tom parked the car in an out-of-the-way spot, but left the ignition on, the heat still running, radio on. Neither of us got out. We sat in painful, awkward silence. Finally, he turned to me. "I love you."

"I love you, too…" My eyes stayed down, and I fidgeted absentmindedly with my coat. All of a sudden, it was as if we were strangers. I felt alone and uncomfortable. I couldn't fathom how this was going to get better. To make it that much worse, we were supposed to take this monumental, life-changing step in our relationship: we were moving in together. All of my things were waiting for me at Tom's house in London. I had even gotten a bunch of my stuff out of storage and sent them ahead, expecting a permanent move. It should have been one of the happiest days of my life, to move in with the man I loved. The man I felt completed me, made me whole. Instead…

Tom reached over and took my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine. "Elizabeth…" Complete dread, and yet, I craved it. I wanted him to end it. Let me go, fluttering away, carried off by the wind.

"It's okay… I understand. If you don't want me to go with you…" My voice was quavering, tears in my eyes. I tried to pull my hand from his, but he was clutching it as if his life depended on it. 

"After everything we just went through last night, is that really what you think?" He sounded wounded. I just kept hurting him. _Oh god..._

"I don't… I don't know." I didn't. I wasn't sure what to think. 

"Is that what you want me to say? That I want you to stay here?" His voice became accusatory, but he refused to let my hand go. "Would that make it easier? Yes, _for you_ it would, right? So you can play the victim but really blame it on me. What _about_ me, though? You're so bloody selfish sometimes. I just can't…"

"That's not… that's not what I meant!" Calling me out, no matter how accurate, just made me ultra-defensive and I blurted out, "If I'm so selfish then maybe it will be easier to just…" I stopped, unable to say the words. I couldn't even look at him. 

"Fine," he spat, his jaw clenched, and I could see the veins in his neck pulsating as his anger rose. "If that's what _you_ want, then maybe you should stay." 

"I never said that's what I want. You know what I want. I want… this to have never happened, I want us to be like we were before it did. Because everything finally started to work and I fucked it up."

"Look at me." Chewing on my lip, I turned and stared out the window, trying but failing to find enough courage to face him. Suddenly he yelled, " _Look at me!_ " I jumped, but I turned a little and my eyes met his, my head still partially down. I didn't think I could face his gaze, but it wasn't an option anymore. "I love you, Elizabeth. Do you hear me? I truly love you. But we either need to put this aside, and find a way to cope, or we need to give in altogether. And I don't want that, or I would not have forgiven you. Understand?" I nodded, my other hand now half-shielding my red-rimmed eyes as I sniffled pathetically. He reached across with his other hand, fetching a tissue from the glove compartment and handing it to me. Such a gentleman. So caring. God I loved him. I loved everything about him. But those little things, they just made my heart beat faster, no matter how many times he opened a door, or laid his hand protectively on the small of my back, or whatever. I didn't care that it was old-fashioned. It made me feel safe and loved, secure and strong. "You didn't cheat on me, and I understand why you lied. I do. And I forgive you. It's not that I'm not cross with you, or that you didn't hurt me terribly. But in the scheme of things? I can let it go. I need you to let it go as well. Oh god, darling, can't you see? I'm terrified of losing you. I love you so much. I want you, only you." 

While his words exacerbated my guilt, in a way, they also filled me with such joy. "I'm yours. I belong to you…" My voice shaky and timid, I wanted reassurance but felt ashamed for it. Tom must have sensed it, something, I don't know. But he knew, and despite me having hurt him so, he comforted me. He leaned in, tilted my chin up and kissed me; it was a tender, romantic kiss, like out of a movie. I just melted into him. 

I did something shitty, but it was far from unforgivable. I tried my best to let go, as his lips enveloped mine, I tried to let all the guilt, all the insecurity, just flow out of me, and replace it with the love I knew he felt. Nothing would be withheld, from now on, I would give him everything. His lips insistent, his hands now sneaking under my coat, finding my waist, then slipping under my shirt, up to the curve of my breasts, skin against skin as I twitched beneath his fingertips. His touch full of love and aching and desperation, and I had to have him… I needed the solace… needed to lose myself in the physical act of love. We both did. 

"Darling… you are mine, aren't you?" He gasped as my hands found the waistband of his jeans, just slipping underneath. "Please… Tell me you're still mine." Begging me, each plea I inhaled, breath hot on my tongue, each kiss interrupting the words as he tried to speak them. He moved my skirt up around my hips, his fingers sliding between my thighs and rubbing against the moistened fabric of my panties, desire so evident now. 

I quickly undid his pants, finding his cock and stroking gently. "I'm yours… always yours. Please, Tom, let me prove to you that I'm yours." 

"Recline the seat… And take your knickers off." I lifted my hips, shimmying out of my panties, then pushed the seat back. Once I did, he crawled on top of me, tugging his pants down haphazardly. Grabbing my legs, he wrapped them around his waist, placing his tip up against my wet slit, but not entering me. Instead, he took my face in his hands and kissed me again, deeply but tenderly. He looked intently into my eyes, "Tell me…" An entreaty, full of expectation and fear. "Tell me, _please_ Elizabeth."

"I'm yours, Tom. I'm completely yours." Lips grazing, tasting his breath, his pain. 

"I want to make love to you… I want…" Trailing off, he closed his eyes for just a moment, inhaling sharply as he began to push into me, haltingly, as if he were scared suddenly. I was, too. It felt different; full of new meaning and significance, as if we were in the middle of a bridge that was falling apart as we crossed and we could never go back. Each movement, he recoiled slightly, punctuated by a barely-audible groan. I didn't move. I waited as he took his time, found his own pace, until finally he took me completely. Once fully inside, he lay his body down completely against mine, his breath on my neck, as he whispered, " I love you so much. You're mine, Elizabeth, and," his voice cracked a little as he continued, "I'm… I'm yours."

I'd waited, wondered, hoped. That he would say those words to me. On this day, the meaning was a million times more poignant. Our mouths together, his hands cradling my face, he slowly began to thrust but just barely, each movement laden with the significance of this moment. "I promise… I promise…" I could barely speak, and I just began repeating it, a prayer of sorts to find our way again. The sensations, the emotions, it was all so different. I was still sore from the night before, and the endorphins and everything, it was all so much, for both of us. He reached down and, using his thumb, began to massage my clitoris, as he kept his cock buried deep inside, rotating his hips. I didn't think I could come, to be honest, but he needed it. So I tried to breath and give him everything. 

"Elizabeth," he pushed up farther onto his knees and pulled back a little, then thrust back into me. Steadily he gave in to his own body's desires, and watching him, tongue curled against his teeth, eyes squeezed shut, I gave into mine as well. Windows fogged up, air thick with the smell of sex, I arched my back and let the pleasure wash over me, letting go. "Elizabeth, look at me," he panted as he could feel me start to tighten, feel me start to lose myself. "Tell me…"

He placed one hand on my forehead, and my lids fluttered a bit before my eyes found his. "I'm yours, Tom, I'm… I'm…" Once I began to climax, I could hardly speak, the pleasure radiating from the inside out, stealing breath from my lungs. All I could do was moan softly as Tom brought me to exquisite ecstasy. Gave me love and forgiveness in one perfect act.

"Don't look away, tell me, _oh god_ , Elizabeth," he didn't shut his eyes. Instead, his gaze met mine as he rode out his orgasm, so close to my own, and then collapsed against me. His cock still quivered slightly as I rhythmically clenched my walls around him, prolonging his pleasure and my own. I could feel the tears on my cheek almost immediately, but it took a moment before I realized they were from Tom, too. Lying there, so peaceful, the sadness of loss washed away by the relief of renewed hope. "Oh god. Oh god, tell me we'll be alright Elizabeth, _please_ tell me…"

"We'll be alright, Tom. I promise." His chest heaving, fingers tangling into my hair, I didn't know how I knew. But I did. Somehow, I knew we would survive.

****

Surprisingly, we made our flight. We were so exhausted after everything, we slept much of the plane ride this time. I was too tired to care when people asked for autographs, and to be honest, Tom was often sleeping, so there weren't very many requests (apparently there is a point where people won't bother us). He held my hand almost the entire way, and a kind of understanding settled between us. His poor hand was still injured, though, and every time I saw it I felt a twinge of guilt. However, I knew I had to get over it. I wanted nothing more than to get back to normal. 

Once in London, I hoped Tom would feel more comfortable and start to find his way again, too. Driving to his house, I was kind of excited, since I'd seen photos, but hadn't ever actually been there before. It was a relatively small but gorgeous maisonette in Chelsea and I was really thrilled thinking about how fun it must be to live in London. As we walked up to the door, though, I got really nervous again.

"Darling?" Tom turned as he opened the door, flashing me a big, toothy grin. "Come. No time for that anymore, remember?" 

"Yes, sir." His effusiveness softened my nerves and I smiled a little as I peered in through the doorway. The photos did not do it justice; it was obviously really expensive and I immediately felt a bit out of place. I ventured in farther and surveyed the place, wondering if I really belonged there. As I got a better view, though, I noticed something: a photo of Tom and me from Iceland, framed and hung above the fireplace. I knew that Tom had had to plan that. He would have had to get someone to do it for him, actually get the photo printed out, frame it, and hang it before we got back to London. I was floored. The gesture meant so much, that he had gone through the effort to try and make me feel at home. I just grabbed him, my arms squeezing him tightly as I embraced him and he chuckled. "Tom I can't… I just… _Thank you so much_."

"It's our home now, darling. Right?" He kissed me on the forehead. 

"Yes, sir. It's our home." 

"I love you, darling. Let's get ready for bed, okay? We have work tomorrow morning. And I want to get _everything_ back on track." 

Heaving a sigh of relief, I smiled. Tom and I both knew rekindling our dynamic and strengthening our roles would be the best way to get over the whole debacle for good. "Yes, sir. More than anything, I want that, too."


End file.
